Aftermath
by tea-with-emilia
Summary: Set after the final episodes, this story follows the impacts and after-effects of episode 52 across the heroes. It's an exploration of the concept of aftermath: it's about learning to cope with life, fear, emotions, trauma, people and everything in between. DISCONTINUED for now, sorry guys
1. Prologue

So, it's here at last: tea-with-emilia's first multi-chapter fic!

I've had a few requests for multi-chapter, and I know I've been very wary about making any promises. Nonetheless, I am so so keen to publish this. I did want to make one thing clear: this isn't meant to be a "continuation" of the series. I'm not writing more episodes. That was Little Miss Illusional's job anyway! This is purely my own exploration of the events after the final episodes.

Anyway, enjoy! (And review, and etc etc etc)

* * *

Cronus stood in his usual regal stance, as if he ruled over more than a cell in Tartarus. After all, it was only a matter of time -no pun intended- until he was restored to his rightful throne.

The oracle gave a knowing sigh of frustration as the God approached.

"Your ego has always been your achilles heel, Cronus."

Cronus took a deep, invigorating breath, appreciating the beloved spring air.

"You know, Oracle, it really is a great day, isn't it?"

The oracle just sipped his coffee, ignoring Cronus' good mood. So, the god figured he may as well continue.

"It's fair to say I deserve my 'ego', as you call it. I did just break your prophecy."

The oracle did not smile.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

The Oracle did not look his usual smug self, and his answer was almost bitter.

"You know what I said about your ego, Cronus."

But the God just laughed: ecstasy had become his domain. He had defied -once more- the ridiculous strictures imposed upon him by his own insolent children.

He had earned a day of grace.

"And, may I remind you, those seven children are still alive. Including Theresa."

Cronus gave an involuntary sneer at the mention. Of course he knew they were alive: the Oracle only mentioned it to ruin his good mood. But Theresa _was_ a thorn in the God's side, aura or no aura.

"Yes, I am aware, Oracle." Cronus answered, surveying the man with dismay, "In fact, that is why I am in the city now. Thought that to celebrate the end of the prophecy, I might just, ahem, sort out some matters. Tidying up, really."

His eyes had that familiar evil glint, but the freshness of the day still invigorated Cronus and his good mood refused to be too far dampened by the thought of the mortals.

Regardless, the thorn would not remain for much longer.

* * *

Hera's eyes were clear and cold, and her smile was a faint attempt at comfort. Truths Jay wanted to ignore sat nestled in Hera's face, peering out unabashedly at him.

He looked away, swallowing.

Her voice was as steady as her expression, and her eyes clawed to meet his.

"You can't save everyone, Jay."

Jay just shook his head. Refusal had become his trademark over the past few days. After all, a leader never gives up. His persistence was the one good trait Jay could honestly claim to possess.

"I won't accept this. I can change it. Fix it."

Hera sighed, looking away and scanning the room tiredly. Her good nature was draped across her like a dress: she remained calm but decided. And sympathetic. After all, the child was only human.

Perhaps he would learn.

"Jay, I believe-"

"Miss Hera, I appreciate the help but I can't always trust what you believe. You're the one who said she was only mortal, after all."

His voice had cut through her honey-smooth, calm dialogue with a sharp edge Hera didn't appreciate. Nor did she appreciate Jay's reference to her threat against Theresa. It was an ill-timed statement, and one that Hera felt compelled to forget. But she decided against responding to Jay's vitriol- it would serve no purpose. Hera forced herself to meet his eyes.

"Jay, I regret what I said."

"That's good."

His eyes were still hardened like toffee- sugar free toffee perhaps, because they lacked any sweetness. Hera continued despite his evident frustration.

"But I remain firm on my stance. People have to come to terms with things in their own time. You can't save everyone."

"And why not?"

A million reasons poured into Hera's mind: a thousand explanations of human nature. There were too many answers, and few the child could truly comprehend. And so Hera gave the simplest response possible:

"Because, Jay, she didn't ask you to save her."


	2. Chapter 1: Insomnia

So, the first full chapter of Aftermath is here! Please read, review and enjoy ;)

* * *

The car trip home was silent.

A first for the heroes, really.

It wasn't a choking silence, though. Not the sort of silence that seems so stiff and painful, it might fog up the windows. It was more a silence that arose because everyone in the car was too involved in their own thoughts to notice it. Conversation felt like an unnecessary distraction from one's internal thoughts, as each member of the team went through the individual process of digesting the day. They were like an archipelago that formed one nation: entirely separate from each other, yet thinking on the same wavelength.

It was only when the truck arrived back at the Brownstone, and the slamming of car doors snapped their conscious thoughts closed once more, that the heroes even realised they had not spoken a word.

* * *

Blame spreads like a disease.

It was Jay who succumbed first.

The day was drawing to a close, Theresa having headed off for "a good night's sleep", which Hera had claimed was a surefire remedy after your aura went wild. Instead of following her to the dorm rooms, Jay found himself wandering to the rooftop: their silently-agreed-upon rendezvous place. Jay's legs dragged him up the stairs after uttering the usual banal words. He was tired, for sure: but not in a way that sleep could remedy. His head ached and all Jay wanted was to close his eyes and ignore the buzzing, broken world he now lived in. But somehow Jay knew that the awful shaking sensation in his limbs would keep him awake.

Wasn't it Macbeth who said those famous lines:

 _the innocent sleep,_

 _Sleep that knits up the raveled sleave of care,_

 _The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath,_

 _Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,_

 _Chief nourisher in life's feast._

Sleep was the domain of the innocent, and that wasn't a title Jay could claim.

So instead Jay sat on the edge of the rooftop, and the world looked like its usual humming mosaic of lights before him.

And then it began.

Guilt works in funny ways: it inks itself across you, like a tattoo. As Jay sat staring out at the unchanging world, guilt's prickly hands began to seep through his veins towards his heart, aiming to settle there like an immovable weight.

And it began in memories.

The flash of anger in her eyes when Persephone harassed her.

Her own quiet admission that the stress and frustration she felt was "probably my own".

The nightmares she'd been having for weeks.

Her angry demeanour, that edge to her voice that Jay had tried to ignore as just determination.

They were as good as flashing neon signs, and Jay had stupidly missed every one of them.

Jay shook his head, hoping the thoughts might rattle and disappear altogether.

They didn't.

Jay bit his lip as the weight of his guilt began to nestle deep within him. But it was too much: he didn't want to bear it.

He couldn't.

"Why didn't anyone listen?!" Jay muttered furiously to himself: an utterance towards his core. An attempt to free the frustration deep within his chest, to answer the million questions the day had raised. His nails dug into his fists with the weight of his thoughts.

 _Why didn't I listen to her when she said she was stressed, or why didn't she listen when the Gods warned her about the power of these things, or why didn't Atlanta listen, or Neil…_

And that's when it came to him.

"Listen. That's what I have to do now. I just have to listen for once."

A sense of purpose, of hope, seemed to accompany the voice that spoke those words. Jay thrived on plans: and now he had one. A solution to the problem. A means to an end. An explanation.

And as Jay wandered back down the stairs and into the Brownstone, he uttered a quiet phrase to himself; for solace, perhaps.

"It'll be okay."

* * *

Yes, it had been a difficult day.

I mean, Archie's team mate nearly _died_ , before getting heroically saved by her boyfriend. The Greek Gods of Olympus lost their powers. Cronus was defeated.

And, _Atlanta had taken Archie's hand._

Even now as Archie sat in his room, his skin seemed different -more vibrant, softer- for where her skin had met his. It tingled. His heart was still racing, as if her magical effect hadn't quite worn off yet.

Of course, the whole team was so sombre, Archie felt almost like a criminal for his joy. He'd tried to hide his cheeks that blushed with excitement and shyness, tried to suppress the unbelievably joyous grin that seemed to want to persistently plaster his face since _the hand._ He understood how Don Lockwood felt when he sang the "Singing in the Rain" number, getting completely and utterly soaked as a bulbous grin shone constantly. In the song, the rain is bucketing down but Don declares "From where I'm standing, the sun is shining all over the place.". Archie could relate: despite the black mood that had settled over the heroes, an uncontrollable sense of complete and utter euphoria had come to dominate every cell of Archie's body. You could pour a bucket of water on him -right here, right now, even ice cold- and you couldn't suppress the bubbly feeling in Archie's tummy. Like everything in the world was just right.

Archie felt ready to do anything: leap off buildings, sing off-key proposals with a grand piano, punch through walls, run around in his underwear. The world was suddenly full of possibilities, and Archie was ready to claim them.

But night was settling and the day was one of mourning, so Archie simply put his pyjamas on and lay in bed, smiling to himself.

Because tomorrow, anything could happen: Atlanta had taken Archie's hand. Maybe tomorrow, they could skip school and go boarding, or see a movie, or have a picnic in the park, or even go out to dinner.

Tomorrow was a prospect too wonderful to ignore. And so, for the first time in a long time, Archie slept with a smile on his face.

* * *

"You off to bed soon Herry?" Atlanta asked warmly, smiling gently. She'd been a rock today: obviously shaken, but still smiling and holding everyone together. "You ought to get some sleep after all this."

Herry sat at the kitchen bench, his ice cream bowl long empty.

"Uh, yeah, probably." Herry answered absently.

"Take care of yourself, then." Atlanta added kindly. "I'm heading up to bed."

Herry just nodded. _Smile, remember._ His lips were tugged into an awkward grin.

Atlanta didn't seem to notice as she walked up the stairs.

Herry didn't want to go to bed- for some reason, the idea of lying there and not sleeping repelled him. There was a sense, somewhere deep within, that going to bed was not what he needed.

And so Herry found himself deep within the weights room some hours later, huffing and pushing like he always did. There was an undeniable comfort in lifting that other people didn't really seem to appreciate: an ease or solace in the rhythm of lifting, _up and down, up and down_ , your body heaving in a pattern that had a grace of its own. Your body followed strict rules when lifting: when it breathed, when it contracted, when it relaxed. Over and over again.

Herry was immune to exhaustion tonight. He lost count of the reps -and Herry was notorious for failing to forget- but simply continued to force his body to pulse with the weights. It was as if a certain number of reps, a certain number of lifts, a certain amount of pain: maybe that would fix it.

Maybe that would stop the eerie, foggy feeling in Herry's head.

Maybe that would let him sleep.

* * *

Jay's fist knocked gently on the wood, and after no response, he eased the door open with only a slight creak.

"Theresa?" The whisper was soft, and Jay's eyes scanned the dark room.

"Jay, is that you?" Theresa's lamp flicked on, and her marbled eyes stared at Jay. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh yeah, of course. Everything's fine now. I just wanted to talk-"

"Maybe later."

Her voice was as soft as his, but tinged with apathy as she continued. "I'm pretty tired."

Jay's eyes flickered to the ground, and his throat tightened: as if it wanted to choke itself slightly. _Dude, of course she's tired. Why didn't you see that coming?_

"Oh yeah, that makes sense. Uh, well, maybe we can chat tomorrow then, if that's okay."

Her smile was reserved, drawn across her eyes like curtains.

"Sure, that's fine."

And then her hand flicked the lamp off, leaving Jay back in darkness.

The door closed with a creak, and the weight settled on Jay's shoulders just a little more heavily.


End file.
